


Cats & Corinthians

by anonsensicalgirl



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, batcat centric, but also for the jane austen fans out there, everybody's still superheroes and villains though, it starts slow but turns into a murder mystery, very georgette heyer and baroness orczy inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonsensicalgirl/pseuds/anonsensicalgirl
Summary: There's not much that truly scandalizes London's ton.Murder, though, just might.a.k.a The Batman Regency AU that was bound to happen when you spend too much time reading both Jane Austen and Batman.





	1. Honored Guests & Timely Gossip

“Well, he’s not a Lord, Mamma, and so I needn’t see why we must make such a fuss about him.”

Miss Veronica Vreeland, eighteen, had seen a number of eligible men in her lifetime, and had very little interest in those she found to be untitled. As a young lady of fine standing, impeccable reputation and—most importantly—worth 20,000 pounds, she could certainly afford to be.

Mrs. Vreeland was less exacting in her expectations. “It is your second season,” she reminded her daughter, “and not nearly as successful as your debut! Your sister is to be out next year, and if you remain so particular, I simply don’t know what I shall do!”

"Marriage is not a choice I take lightly, Mamma," Miss Vreeland continued. "And besides, it isn't me who is so particular, but Papa."

"I don't see how he could disapprove of this match," her mother insisted. "They say Mr. Wayne is the wealthiest man in London—In all of England, even!"

"Well, I don't see how he can be very in, you know, when he isn't even here. He's been back a week, and no one has seen him. Perhaps," she lowered her voice, "there's something _wrong_ with him."

"What could be wrong with the richest man in England?" her mother asked. "With that fortune, I daresay you shouldn't _care_!"

“Hush, Mamma, Sir Thomas Elliot is here, and I won’t have you gossiping about another man while he can hear!” She fluttered her fan and smiled as the man approached them.

Mrs. Vreeland did not think, for all his title, that Sir Thomas was the most suitable match for her daughter, as his fortune was barely average. But he was accepted into the best circles, and association with him could do more good than harm.

After a cursory greeting, he asked Veronica to dance, which she heartily accepted, leaving Mrs. Vreeland with the other older women who had no notion of dancing that evening. Mrs. Vreeland had been very fond of dancing once, but she found that keeping an eye on her daughter was nearly impossible if she spent the evening on her own amusement.

Though Veronica was never one to turn down masculine attention, by the time Sir Thomas led Veronica off the dance floor, depositing her with some other young ladies, she was eager for some girlish conversation. Veronica was delighted to find herself next to Miss Page, who she always found to be pleasant company. She was less delighted to see that Miss Page was already talking with another young lady of whom Veronica was distinctly less thrilled to speak with.

She and Miss Kyle hadn’t suited very well together when they’d met last season, and she had no delusions that they would suddenly become bosom companions this year, either.

“Your gown is delightful, Veronica,” Miss Page said as soon as she was close enough to speak without shouting. “I wish I looked as well as you do in white, but my complexion isn’t suited for it at all!”

“Thank you, but your gown is lovely, too—although didn’t you say you were going to wear the new earrings your father bought in Italy? I was so looking forward to seeing them!”

Miss Page sighed dramatically. “Papa said it would be unwise, lest _the cat_ get them,” her eyebrows rose meaningfully.

“The cat?” Miss Kyle asked curiously.

“The thief, you know. They say he’s robbed at least five of society’s houses in the past six months—even Countess Lieven is said to have been a victim!”

“Oh yes,” Miss Kyle agreed. “I was aware, I just hadn’t known they’d fabricated a name for the miscreant.”

“Anyway,” Miss Page continued, “Papa didn’t think it was wise to advertise any jewels.”

“And quite right he is,” Miss Kyle said. “Besides, perhaps _The Bat_ will catch him, and then you can wear your jewels to your heart's content."

Veronica narrowed her eyes at Miss Kyle. She was ever so polite and proper in public, but Veronica had never been entirely fooled—even the way she'd said "the bat" sounded faintly mocking. And besides, Miss Kyle was simply too peculiar, though her origins were singularly romantic. She’d lived abroad in Spain until her parents' death, when she’d come under the guardianship of Lady Isley, who was barely five years older than her ward. With her dark hair and keen hazel eyes, Miss Kyle was certainly a beauty, but with such a lack of established relations and a fortune that couldn’t have been very large (lest society would know of it) Veronica had never found her a great rival.

Well, at least she hadn’t any reason to find her so, but Veronica knew Miss Kyle had something in her air, in her manner, that she herself lacked. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it irked her all the same.

Miss Page's eyes widened. "Do you think so?" she asked. "Mama said I wasn't to talk about him—she said I wasn't supposed to know anything about crime, you know, but if I'm not supposed to wear my jewels because of it I think I should—but they say he's caught all sorts of dreadful people for the constable." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Even _murderers_."

"Oh my," Miss Kyle said. "Do you admire him?"

"Well, he does sound rather dashing, you know," Miss Page admitted. "So perhaps...if I knew he was handsome."

She said it so impishly that neither Veronica nor Miss Kyle could help laughing, though a moment later Veronica really wondered if Miss Kyle's laugh was genuine; there was something unreadable in her expression as they spoke of the strange vigilante who'd appeared a number of months ago, leaving tied-up criminals like presents for the night watchmen before the Bow Street Runners could even arrive. 

Before Veronica could question Miss Kyle on the subject, the door to the ballroom opened and all three ladies turned towards the disturbance. A man entered the room, and though that was certainly not unusual, the fact that none of them recognized him—and that whispers seemed to emerge in his presence—made him intriguing. He was unfairly handsome, with dark hair and an athletic figure dressed in the very best of fashion—a regular Corinthian, Veronica thought. And as he moved a bit closer, she also saw that he possessed a pair of very striking blue eyes.

“Who,” Miss Page whispered in awe, “is _that_?”

Miss Kyle’s eyes weren’t on the stranger, but the guests around him. As Sir Thomas shook the man’s hand, Miss Kyle said with certainty, “I believe this can be none other but our elusive Mr. Wayne, don’t you think?”

Veronica couldn’t help but admit that Miss Kyle was probably correct; especially as Sir Thomas was known to have been friends with him.

“I don’t doubt it,” Veronica said, “though I’ve never seen the man before in my life.”

“How long has he been away from London?” Miss Kyle asked.

“Nearly ten years, I think. I don’t believe anyone ever thought he'd come back.”

“They say he’s been all over the world,” Miss Page said excitedly. “I overheard my brother talking—you know men don’t ever really say anything interesting when ladies are present—that he’s even been to China and the Holy Land.”

"I heard that he only keeps one servant," Veronica said, still not ready to admit that her mother was right and that Mr. Wayne might be a potential suitor after all. "One! Can you imagine?"

Miss Kyle's eyes brightened, although Veronica couldn't guess as to why. "Really? How odd. Perhaps it's only because he's just arrived."

"I suppose," Veronica admitted, "although it would seem very strange that he would not arrange his household before he arrived." It did not bode well for her approval of him, although she was growing impatient for an introduction. Mr. Wayne was on the far left side of the room, not very far from her mother, and he seemed to be moving in that general direction. If she left now, she could just make it there in time for her to catch Sir Thomas's eye and finagle an introduction.

"Dear me," she said. "My poor Mamma looks quite parched." She took a cup of punch. "I think I shall bring this right to her."

If only Miss Kyle didn't give her such a knowing look as she left!

* * *

Selina Kyle had no interest in the capturing the attention of the wealthy men around her unless it was to serve her own interests but—

But—

The wealthiest man in London only having one servant at present? It seemed too good to be true. 

Servants were always pesky variables in her line of work—one never knew what bumps in the night would wake them up, and the more people in a household, the harder it was to slip in unnoticed. Unless of course it was an unusually large household, in which she could pass herself off as an unknown member of the staff.

But Lady Isley dashed her hopes.

"They say he keeps all of his valuables at his manor in Devonshire," Lady Isley said meaningfully as the two conspirators watched the object of their interest laugh with a group of men in between dances. He soon followed Sir Thomas over towards Veronica Vreeland and her mother, obviously for an introduction. Selina would have rolled her eyes, but those uncouth habits had been ones she'd had to forgo in her two years in Society.

Selina sighed. "It's a pity. I dearly would have liked to have a go at the richest man in London."

"And the most eligible," Lady Isley reminded her. "If—"

"We've discussed this, Pamela," Selina said, with a meaningful look. Selina valued her independence and had no desire for marriage, especially when her entire acceptance into society was based on a lie. She had no desire to marry well only for her husband to uncover her myriad of secrets. She knew the only reason that Lady Isley wondered that she didn't try her hand at a brilliant match was because to her, any marriage was only temporary bondage in exchange for even greater freedom than before.

After all, widows had a much more independent life than single young women.

But though Selina would never describe herself as being the most ethical or pious of women, she did not particularly care for Lady Isley's methods of husband disposal. 

“Pity,” Lady Isley said. “I would have liked to find a subject for the newest strain of nightshade I’ve been cultivating.” At Selina’s uncomfortable look, she laughed. Lady Isley had a beautiful laugh. It wasn’t high and sparkling like most of the debutantes Selina was forced to socialize with; rather, it was a warm and inviting sound that had beckoned many a gentleman into her arms.

“I only use my darlings on those I have a reason to, Selina.” Lady Isley reminded her. “And I’d never murder _your_ husband without your consent.”

“Thank you, Pamela,” Selina said dryly. “That makes me feel ever more comfortable.”

But Selina knew that she’d likely not ever be comfortable, not until her agreement with Lady Isley was finished, and she could live her life the way she wished it.

Sometimes she wondered if that was ever going to be possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have FINALLY gotten around to beginning this fic, which has been on my brain for at least a year. It's a bit of a daunting endeavor so I kept putting it off, plus I'm not sure how many other readers are in fandom where comics and Regencies meet, but I can't be the only one, right? And even if I am, at least I'll enjoy it so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> (and hopefully if you're only one of those types of readers, you'll still be able to enjoy this fic)
> 
> I'm pretty much plundering from all sorts of different Batman comics/films/versions for my backstories and characterizations, but there's definitely a lot of influence from Batman: The Animated Series. I wanted to start off with this fic from an outside perspective, but most of the chapters will be from either Bruce or Selina's POV (and probably Dick's, once he's introduced).


	2. Lies & Secrets

Having slept most of the first half of the day, Selina was by no means tired by the time she arrived home past one o’clock in the morning. Still, she would have expected her younger sister to have long been abed, and so was surprised to find Magdelena slipping into her room as the maid helped Selina out of her gown and unpinned her hair.

Maggie crawled onto Selina’s bed. “You looked so beautiful tonight, Lina!” she said. “I’ll bet everyone at the ball said so.”

Selina brushed off her sister’s compliment. “I looked no better than any of the dozens of young ladies tonight, Maggie.”

Maggie, with the naivete of her young years, wasn’t convinced. “I just know some handsome, wealthy gentleman will fall in love with you, and you’ll live happily ever after.”

“No, darling, that’s exactly what shall happen to you one day,” Selina corrected, giving her sister a kiss as the maid left the room. Indeed, a future for Maggie was all she wanted, and it was all she was working towards.

And that was why her sister must never know just what Selina had done to secure that future.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, Pet?” she asked, taking up a brush for her sister’s auburn hair. They had maids to do that sort of thing now, but the sisters were happy to keep the habit they’d begun long ago. Not much about their previous life before had been pleasant, except for maybe that.

“I spent the evening in the library,” she said. “Do you think that makes me a terrible bluestocking?”

Selina laughed. “Not if it was a novel. A novel or two is perfectly acceptable, so Lady Isley tells me.”

“Good,” Maggie said in relief. “And I _do_ like a good story.” After a moment she added, “Lady Isley has been very good to us, hasn’t she?”

Constant deception enabled Selina to lie without any hesitation, “Very good.” Hopefully, Maggie would never learn about the arrangement Selina had settled between Lady Isley and herself; all the younger girl knew was that she was a kind, distant relative who’d discovered her poor relations and taken them in. Maggie knew they weren’t supposed to speak of their pauper days and had been doing her best the past two years to learn everything expected of a young lady with a bright future ahead of her.

Selina was proud of her sister: she was already elegant and—unlike Selina—demure. Her hair was a little too red to be in fashion, but her facial features were regular and well-formed, and Selina knew she would be quite the beauty.

And if Selina’s plans went accordingly, her sister would be able to afford to make a brilliant match _and _marry for affection. She passed the hairbrush to her sister and turned around on the bed, facing the door.

Maggie took up the brush and ran it through Selina’s dark curls. “Is she really related to us?” Maggie asked. “I don’t think Mama ever talked about her.” She frowned. “I don’t wish to impose on her, even if it was all a mistake.”

“You were six when Mama died, Maggie. If she did, you wouldn’t have remembered.” Maggie _couldn’t_ have doubts about their situation, so she added, “It was Lady Isley who found us, remember?” Untrue, but an untruth Lady Isley herself had concocted.

Maggie set down the brush and began to braid Selina’s hair. “It still doesn’t feel…real. Like this isn’t the life we’re supposed to have. Not after…”

Selina turned sideways so she could look at her sister. “Don’t feel as though you don’t deserve this, Pet. You deserve everything in the world, and our life before was nothing but a bad dream, one we don’t mention.” She kissed her sister’s forehead. “Now go to sleep. You’re far too young to keep to a London social schedule.”

Maggie left, but Selina didn’t retire to bed. Instead, she opened the false back of her wardrobe and took out a pile of dark clothes. Her night was far from over.

“Who do you plan on hitting tonight?”

To her credit, Selina didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned to see Lady Isley, in a long and extravagant dressing gown, in the door way of her room. She’d locked it, but that was no matter; Lady Isley had ways of getting into places. The candle she was holding illuminated the striking red hair she was known for.

“The Vreelands,” Selina said, pulling the black breeches on underneath her nightdress.

Lady Isley smiled. “I take it you found Miss Vreeland more trying than usual tonight?”

Selina flashed the woman a look. “It’s nothing about her, and everything about her emeralds.”

“The Vreeland Emeralds are well worth your while. I believe I may have a buyer for you in Italy who has been searching for something of the like.”

Selina bound her chest and pulled a dark black shirt over her head. She kept the plait in her hair that Maggie had braided, but twisted it and held it together with a pin. It would be under her mask, so her long hair was never an issue.

Ready, she turned and faced her benefactress, her back to the open window. Perhaps benefactress was the wrong word, but she doubted there was any language to fully describe the relationship with the woman who was part friend, part enemy. Part blackmailer, part victim.

“Be careful,” Lady Isley said without neither affection nor malice. “You know there’s no one to catch you if you fall.” Her words held layers of meaning.

But Selina smiled. “That’s why I never do,” she assured her, and flipped out of the window into the night.

* * *

“Good morning, Sir. Shall I bring up breakfast?”

The figure under the bedclothes only attempted to shrink under them further as his tormentor opened the curtains, allowing light into the room.

“Master Bruce?”

He threw off the covers and groaned. “No, Alfred. I’ll be down presently.”

“Sore this morning, Sir?”

“It was a slow night, Alfred. Thankfully so, as I had to waste have the night at that assembly.”

“Evidentially not.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Haven’t you heard the news, Sir? The Vreeland Emeralds were taken last night, presumably by our “cat.””

Bruce swore. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone.”

“And how were you to know that the Vreelands were to be the victims? Our antagonist in this matter is a skillful one. No one has actually seen him but once—a black blur flipping off of a roof.”

“I should have suspected. Mr. Vreeland had mentioned he’d brought them to London for appraisal.” Bruce jerked on his clothing, annoyed with himself.

“Well, not to take you down yet another peg, Sir, but they were stolen _after_ the assembly, when you—presumably—were already out patrolling the streets?”

Bruce through his butler—and mentor—a plagued look. “It’s clear we are not dealing with any of the second-rate villains of the slums.” His eyes narrowed. “I would say, perhaps, that we are looking for an individual with a unique skill set—acrobatic, in fact. I may take a jaunt in pursuit of that notion later today,” he added as he lifted his chin for Alfred to tie his cravat. Making some connections with Gordon’s Bow Street Runners might be wise. And his wealth certainly gave him an excuse to be interested in the matter, as one only looking to protect his assets.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, perhaps you could arrange for the help first?” Alfred reminded him.

“Ah, yes. Although adding more people to the household will put the secrecy of our operations at risk.”

“Well, then, I say it’s a good thing you’re a young bachelor with all sorts of disreputable habits that can explain your late nights and disheveled appearance, Sir.”

Bruce raised a brow. “I’m glad you approve.”

“I never said I did.” An answering smirk just tilted Alfred’s expression. “And by the way, Lord Dent is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Why didn’t you say so, Alfred?”

“I didn’t wish to rush you, Sir. You know how I hate for you to leave the house wrinkled.”

* * *

“Dent!” Bruce couldn’t deny that he was pleased to see him. They’d run into each other in Spain some time ago, but it had to have been at least eight years since he’d last seen his old friend. Dent looked hardly any different; still the same broad-shouldered, serious-looking gentlemen with an unexpectedly charming smile he’d always been able to use to disarm even the most terrifying of dowagers. That skill had helped the two of them get out of more than a few scrapes as schoolboys.

At the sound of his voice, Dent turned to greet him and offered a warm handshake. “It’s about time you’ve returned!” He grinned. “Look at you! A regular adventurer, you are.”

“And you’re making a name for yourself with your Whig policies, I hear. What have your peers in the House of Lords to say to that?” He said with an answering grin.

“You know I’ve always been about reform, my friend. Things cannot remain as they always have.”

“No,” Bruce said seriously, “I suppose they can’t.” He quickly changed the subject, knowing these early days of establishing his reputation would be vital. He respected Dent, trusted him even, but because of his position, he could never learn of Bruce’s activities. 

Bruce stepped back and allowed himself to give Dent a once-over. “Speaking of returning—you must lend me the name of your tailor; it’s been so long since I’ve been in London you’ll have to reintroduce the whole city to me!”

Dent was momentarily surprised by the abrupt change in subject but collected himself. “Of course! We’ll have you into Almack’s in no time, my friend.”

Bruce laughed loudly. “Indeed! Though I mean to spend my time pleasurably after all that travel. Sporting and gaming are more what I am looking for, you know.”

Dent raised his eyebrows, and Bruce added, “I’m afraid my travels have left me with a very low-brow taste.”

“Don’t mistake my surprise for disapproval, Wayne,” Dent assured him. “I know you are no longer that studious, serious boy I once knew. I say, I don’t suppose you’ve come back to find yourself a bride? Doing your duty to keep the family name alive and all that?”

Bruce hesitated, knowing that it was something he’d had to promise himself to give up. It simply wasn’t possible, not if he wished to continue his work. “I don’t know that I’m suited for marriage. But what of you? You haven’t found yourself a diamond of the first water yet?” He let himself grin. “You, a first-rate bachelor with a rising career in politics? With a title? Don’t tell me you haven’t been caught yet.”

“Ah…well—” He stammered.

“So there is someone, I see! Congratulations! Well, you’ll have to introduce me to her,” he said brightly.

“I look forward to it,” Dent managed.

As the two men parted, Bruce sat down at his desk and frowned; his mind already focused on his next plans ahead of him. The cat—he had never been caught, and all evidence pointed to the man’s entrance as being from the upper levels of the homes he had robbed. He read through that day’s edition of _The Times_, but it offered him little in the ways of clues. He glanced at the clock. If he was going to make any headway before surrendering to a social obligation’s night of entertainment, he needed to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: yeah, I'm writing a batcat focused story!
> 
> Also me: haha *sweating* at one point they might actually...you know...meet
> 
> (seriously, I promise it will be soon.)
> 
> New chapter hopefully up next week, same time, same channel.


	3. Riddlers & Runners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more important characters are introduced, Bruce and Selina finally meet, and A TRAP IS SET

Selina knew she was in trouble the minute she recognized the voice of the man downstairs talking to Lady Isley. After a restless night, she’d come up with a proposal to present to Pamela, and she wasn’t keen on _his_ being there. She sighed and tried not to roll her eyes as she came down, her latest rescue in her arms. She’d picked up the small black cat around one of her usual haunts last night, and though Pamela tolerated Selina’s pets so long as they didn’t upset her precious plants, her solicitor was less fond of anything with fur.

He sneezed upon her entrance and Selina held out a hand, the other securely carrying the kitten. “Mr. Nygma,” she said with a charming smile. “I didn’t know we were to expect you today.”

“Miss Kyle,” he said with a wary glance at the cat. “A pleasure as always.”

Selina did roll her eyes this time. “Please, Ed,” she said. “You don’t have to play the role _that_ well. Here, hold Isis,” she pushed the cat into his arms.

He grunted in response and the cat leapt from his arms, weaving its way around Selina’s feet as she looked at the breakfast set out on the sideboard. Taking a scone and pouring a glass of milk, Selina asked, “Did Pam tell you about the Emeralds?” she glanced at him. “She said there might be an interested buyer.”

Nygma cleared his throat and straightened his glasses. “_That_ is not why I am here, Cat.” He held a handkerchief to his nose and took a step back away from the animal who shared Selina’s nickname. “Why I am here is neither here nor there to you.”

“You don’t have to play your little games, Edward,” Pamela said languidly as she sat down at the table and fingered the leaves of the potted violets embellishing the décor. “He’s here about the conservatory, Selina.”

“Ah.” So he was brokering poisons again. No one could create toxins like Lady Isley, and until Selina, Edward Nygma had been the only person alive who’d known it. When he wasn’t offering his mediocre services as lawyer, he making far more profitable connections through the web of crime throughout the city.

No one would have thought it to look at him—tall, thin, gangly, reddish hair and golden spectacles. He looked far from intimidating. But Selina knew better than to cross him.

At least, she knew better than to cross him flippantly.

“This meeting reminds me that I have something I wish to show you.” Selina slid a pamphlet across the table towards Pamela.

Her eyebrows raised. “Boarding school?”

“For Maggie.” Selina glanced towards the door, as if her sister would come walking down any moment. “You know I wish to keep all of this from her. And meetings like this—” she nodded towards Nygma “—right in the middle of the day is…” she stopped. “It’s getting harder to keep it from her, and it will only get harder as she grows older. She’s already asking questions.”

“You’ll miss her.” Pamela said it as a statement. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’d rather miss her than lie to her.”

“Getting the chit out of the way would make things easier, I will say.” Pamela nodded at the pamphlet. “Edward?”

“I’ll make arrangements immediately.”

Selina squared to face him. “The best school,” she said. “I want it all done aboveboard, Ed. Nothing that will ever harm her reputation, or your golden goose is cooked.”

“Don’t flatter yourself to think we can’t get along without you, Cat,” Ed said.

Selina raised a brow and sat down, the cat jumping up into her lap. She knew exactly where she stood with them, and they _did_ need her. “Don’t flatter yourself to think I that I cannot get along without _you_.”

“Speaking of our dear Cat’s usefulness,” Pamela interrupted, pouring herself a cup of tea. “I do have an assignment I think that’s perfectly suited for her—ah—skills.”

Selina glanced at her warily, and Lady Isley laughed.

“You needn’t worry, Selina,” she said. “It’s but a trifle. Lady Ellery is sending out invitations for her latest ball. I need the invitation addressed to Miss Page to be conveniently lost in the post.” She took a sip of her tea.

“Might I know the reason?”

“Not at a present.”

Selina sighed and set down her glass of milk. After Pamela’s easy acceptance of her plan, she was in no place to argue. “Consider it done.”

“My dear, I knew I could count on you.”

* * *

“But are any of us safe?”

There were a million other things that Chief Magistrate James Gordon, of No. 4 Bow Street, would rather have been doing at that moment. But as fate would have it, he was interrupted in his search of the bat man that had been turning the city up-side down to personally reassure the richest—but perhaps most foolish—man in the city.

“Mr. Wayne,” he said patiently, knowing better than to anger or belittle one of the man’s status, “the Cat, as he is called, has not yet harmed anyone.” He did his best to be kind; it wasn’t Mr. Wayne’s fault he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and thought the world should stop because he was afraid he might get robbed. “While his targets seem to be focused on those in the _ton_, I should say your person is safe.”

“Yes, but,” Mr. Wayne lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. “My mother’s pearls, you know. They’ve been in the family for generations—”

“Mr. Wayne,” Gordon interrupted. “I have no doubt that all of the usual precautions are adequate in the case. But,” he added, “if you are truly worried, I would suggest moving any valuables worth your worry out of the city.”

Mr. Wayne’s face brightened. “I say, that is a marvelous idea. I wonder why I didn’t think of it before!”

To Gordon’s relief, Mr. Wayne’s seemingly idiocy was at least good-natured. Still, Gordon was rather disappointed, for some reason he couldn’t name. Maybe it was because he remembered Bruce Wayne as a boy, and never would have thought his personality would have developed…well, like this. He’d seemed so serious then, with sharp intelligence in eyes that belied his young years.

Then again, seeing one’s parents murdered probably tended to do that.

In his fifty-odd years, Gordon had seen enough victims and crime for many of them to fade in his remembrance, but he never could forget the Wayne boy, nine years old, tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks as he stared at the fallen bodies of his parents.

Gordon had been the one to find the Waynes, that day on the road when their carriage had been attacked on their way from the city to their manor. Everyone knew that highwaymen existed, but they’d become much rarer in their new modern age, and he’d never come across a murder like this one. Gordon hadn’t even been a part of Bow Street then—just a single thief-taker, suddenly on the scene of the city’s most notorious murder.

And yet Bruce Wayne didn’t even seem to recognize him.

Maybe Gordon shouldn’t have been surprised; the boy had probably done his best to forget everything about that day.

Wayne shook his hand enthusiastically. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said. “You’ve set my mind at ease.”

“Obliged to have been able to help, Sir,” Gordon said. But Wayne had no sooner walked out the door than one of his runners came in, hand grasping a sheet of paper.

“I’ve got a warrant to arrest one Arthur Brown, but he’s not coming easy,” Bullock said. “Locked himself inside his house. I don’t suppose…”

“I’ll come,” Gordon said, standing, taking up his hat.

Perhaps dealing with wealthy socialites weren’t the most pressing of his duties, but hopefully they were less dangerous. He glanced at the painted miniature on his desk, knowing that it was cases like this that worried him that he might not come home to kiss his smiling, redheaded daughter.

But duty called, as it always did.

* * *

Aside from hair now more grey than reddish brown, Gordon hadn’t changed much from the man Bruce remembered. Bruce knew there were other ways to spread news of his thief bait—and he planned to exploit that at Dent’s card party that night—but he wanted an excuse to see Gordon, to see if he was still the type of man he remembered. The one who’d come upon a shocking scene but managed to keep his head enough to comfort a frightened boy.

“Are you sure this is wise, Sir?” Alfred asked as he helped him dress that evening. “To tempt the thief with your mother’s pearls? Perhaps you might try with something a bit less…personally valuable?”

“I don’t have the time to bring anything up from the manor, Alfred,” Bruce reminded him. “Nor would I wish to, with the risk of them being taken on the road.”

Alfred didn’t argue, but Bruce had known him his entire life, and there was no question that the man who raised him disapproved.

“You think I’m being foolish,” Bruce said.

“I did not _say_ that, Master Bruce.”

“You didn’t have to, Alfred.”

Though Alfred had served his family in many capacities over the year, Bruce knew there was no way to describe just how important a figure Alfred was in his life. He’d been his father’s valet, then butler, and he’d been the only person Bruce had left after his parent’s death. Though he valued Alfred’s opinion, Bruce knew that this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d ignored it.

Actually, he ignored Alfred’s advice rather a lot, with…less that satisfying results.

But Bruce was confident this time. He was curious about this thief, anyway. There was an elegance to his crimes that was wanting in most of those that Bruce came into contact with during his nightly patrols.

Dent’s home was crowded when Bruce arrived a few minutes fashionably late. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but he’s always thought card parties should be more intimate affairs, not crushing like a ball or an assembly.

“Wayne!” Dent said excitedly as he saw him. “Delighted to see you!” There was a lightness in his step that Bruce hadn’t remembered before, and he could only assume that it was due to the lovely woman by his side. Truly, she was exceptionally beautiful, even if her type of beauty was not in fashion—red hair, he supposed, never would be. But on the woman before him, it was striking. She was wearing a white gown with a filmy overlay embroidered with sparkling green leaves and edged with a green trim that perfectly matched the circlet in her bold hair. Her form was graceful, in a languid, enticing sort of way, but her smile was warm.

“Are you finally going to introduce me to the woman who’s stolen your heart, Dent?” He asked exuberantly. He was pleased for his friend, truly.

“Ah, of course!” he turned to the woman. “Lady Isley, may I present Mr. Wayne, one of my dearest and oldest friends. Wayne, this is my lovely fiancée.”

“Charmed,” she said was an elegant curtsey.

Bruce kissed her hand. She was beautiful, though not the type of woman he was normally attracted to. There was something a little too…self-satisfied in her manner. But Dent was obviously looking at her with no little admiration, and judging by her glance towards him, the feeling was mutual.

“Likewise,” he said, just as they were called to sit down for dinner.

That evening, Bruce found himself in the unremarkable position of sitting between one of baronet of modest means and one chattering young lady—Miss Vreeland, who he had already been introduced to.

“You must tell me all about your travels, Mr. Wayne,” she insisted. “I daresay you are the most well-traveled of us here. Is it true you have been as far east as China?”

“It is true,” he said. “Though they are not particularly fond of Western visitors at present. I spent much more time in the Near East.”

“The Holy Land!” Miss Vreeland said excitedly. “I suppose you met a great deal of interesting people.”

Bruce tensed as dark memory surfaced._ Interesting_ was one way to put it.

He could tell that he façade was in danger of slipping, so he grinned and smoothly inserted, “Not a soul more interesting than the company at this table.”

It was the right thing to say, at least to Miss Vreeland. As he glanced back at his plate, another face from across the table caught his attention. Perhaps it was the faintly mocking look on her face, as if she’d caught his words and found amusement in how obviously false and flattering they were. When he looked at her, she didn’t look away, but let her bright green eyes study him boldly. He wasn’t sure how long their locked gaze would have lasted, if Miss Vreeland hadn’t spoken to him again. When he glanced back, the other woman was already in deep conversation with her dinner partner.

He shook away his thoughts. It wasn’t like him to be distracted by a pretty face.

_“Pretty” isn’t nearly the right word_, his brain contradicted. It was too obvious, too dull. The word lacked the vibrancy that came from that face.

Not that he cared, obviously!

As they rose from the table, he could only see glimpses of the woman. He wondered what it was that intrigued him about her, and why it seemed that he couldn’t get one good look at her. He only saw glimpses—a flicker of dark hair here, a flash of dark purple gown there. It was maddening, even though he told himself he had no reason to allow himself to be preoccupied.

“Has London changed so much, since you’ve left?” Dent asked as they groups began to split for cards.

It was just the chance Bruce needed. “I should say it was never so interesting before! The city has a new vigilante and a new named criminal, it seems.”

The ease left Dent’s face. “It’s dreadful, that’s what it is. Especially the thief business. I’ve known four of the victims personally, Wayne. It’s not the sort of thing you expect to happen to your friends, you know.”

“The only thing of worth in London I have are Mother’s pearls,” Bruce said as he sat down next to Dent. “Of course, they’re incredibly valuable. But I spoke to Gordon at Bow Street, and he said no more than the usual precautions should suffice, so I’ll take his advice.”

“Oh, do take care!” Mrs. Page, sitting down in front of them with a feather jutting regally from her turban, exclaimed. “What a terrible man that thief is! I despise him, I really do!”

“Have you been a victim of this villain, Madam?” Bruce asked, though he knew from his research she was not.

“Oh, no, Sir. But it was only just days ago that the Vreeland’s emeralds were taken. You_ must_ have heard about it. Indeed, it was in all the papers.”

“I did, I could not help it. It was why I spoke with the Chief Magistrate himself. They are doing everything they can, you know,” Bruce assured her.

“Well,” Mrs. Page said. “If _they _cannot, perhaps the Bat can.”

“Do you approve of this Bat-man?” Dent asked as he shuffled the cards. “I cannot say that I do. He seems a very untrustworthy figure. Why does he refuse to show his face?”

“Perhaps he is terribly disfigured,” Mrs. Page said. “Or perhaps he fears the dangers to come upon him by the dark villains of society should they know his identity!”

“I say we leave the subject of the bat for now,” Dent said. “I’ll be banker. Have we all our players?”

“But we must have Miss Kyle join us,” Mrs. Page said. “She’s a cousin of Lady Isley’s, and an absolute _fiend_ at Faro,” she explained as an aside to Bruce. She turned and called, “Selina, darling! You _must_ play with us, I insist. I absolutely insist!”

To Bruce surprise and satisfaction, the lady who turned was none other than the woman who’d been eluding him all evening.

“Might I present Miss Kyle, Wayne?” Dent said. “Do take a seat, Selina. Is Pamela around?”

“I believe Lady Winslow has captured her for a game of whist,” the young woman explained.

“Ah, well, I shall not steal her away and risk the wrath of Lady Winslow,” Dent said, garnering laughs from around the table. “Won’t you sit down?” he asked again.

Miss Kyle did, next to Miss Page and across from Bruce.

“Your reputation at cards proceeds you, Mr. Wayne,” Mrs. Page said. “I do know that we shall all be brought to point non plus with you at the table!”

“Now, Mrs. Page,” Bruce said with an amiable grin. “I could never take such an advantage of a charming woman such as yourself.”

“I’ll have none of your flummery, Mr. Wayne,” Mrs. Page scolded, though he could tell she was pleased. “Save your compliments for the younger set. Miss Kyle, for example! Isn’t she a beauty?” she exclaimed.

Any other woman would have blushed or been embarrassed, but Miss Kyle took the older woman’s words in stride. “Mrs. Page is too kind,” she said. “Don’t feel as though you need to answer.” There was laughter in her words, but they were not the mocking kind he’d seen earlier, and Mrs. Page took no offense. “Besides,” Miss Kyle added, “I do not wish for you to throw your hand on my account, even if I was a beauty. Where is the fun in that?”

“I say, she’s a sporting type of girl, isn’t she, Dent?” Bruce hated his words, but they were all he could think to say. Better for her she think him half flash and half foolish, anyway.

“Miss Kyle has never been a clunch,” Dent said with a laugh. “Indeed, she certainly has not.”

It was a pity, Bruce thought momentarily, that for now _he_ had to be one.

* * *

As Lord Dent handed Lady Isley into the carriage next to Selina, the Cat though over the night’s event and took stock of connections she’d made.

Selina continued to be surprised at Mrs. Page’s favor of her. Selina had done a small favor for Miss Page she hadn’t thought much of—steering her interest away from an unworthy gentlemen—and the poor girl’s mother seemed to feel she was in Selina’s debt for life. Though her unofficial patronage could be overbearing, it was well-meant, and on occasion came in useful, as it did tonight. And Selina was not such a fool to reject beneficial relationships.

She’d found it prodigiously lucky that she’d been at the same table with Mr. Wayne; when every woman in the ton had been dying to grab the attention of the out and outer! And she had noticed his interest; she would have been a simpleton not to. She was no stranger to admiring looks, though she admitted Mr. Wayne’s had not been as leeringly offensive as what she was used to. To her worry, those blue eyes had stirred something in her—something she’d rather assumed she didn’t know how to feel—but thankfully the keen, intelligent look which he’d given her had suddenly evaporated, and he’d horribly dull.

Well, aside from his skill at cards, which was admirable. At least until he lost.

Then again, she would have suspected he’d lost on purpose, though she hadn’t an idea why he would. He _certainly _couldn’t have known of that the Page’s finances were at a standstill; Miss Page had only told that to Selina in confidence, and she hadn’t even told Pamela. But even if Mr. Wayne had known, she wouldn’t have credited him with the skill to ensure that the woman would win. Though she had a feeling he was good natured enough to want to; he seemed naïve enough for that.

In fact, she’d thought him something of a flat, which surprised her. She’d assumed, for all his travels, he must know something of the world. But evidently his wealth had cushioned him. He didn’t know what it was like to go hungry. He didn’t know what it was like to lack shelter. He never had to worry if he would be reduced to selling his very self just to keep his family fed. In a moment, she felt the old anger and bitterness creep in, and she felt a flash of hatred.

“Selina, darling,” Pamela interrupted her brooding. “I do not mind your frowns, but please remember to keep from scowling in company. You have a reputation to uphold.”

“I have never been anything less than charming, Pamela,” Selina said. “Absolutely _charming_.” She added emphatically. “I am not looking for a husband, but I could certainly have caught one by now if I wished.” It wasn’t arrogance.

“Well, I was pleased to see that at least one man was not immune to your charms. Bravo, Selina. Mr. Wayne is one we most assuredly wish to encourage.”

“I don’t—”

“I was mistaken about him, Selina. Dear Dent told me that the poor man is worried about the pearls in his safe. The Wayne pearls are something of a legend. They’re terribly ancient and still divinely gorgeous—or so I’ve heard. No one has seen them since Mrs. Wayne’s death.”

“Well,” Selina admitted, a little less piqued with Lady Isley as she let her finish, “I _have_ always loved pearls.” And thoughts of new capers always thrilled her. Sometimes, as much as she wished to secure her future, she wondered if she’d ever be happy without her life as the Cat. Truly being a lady in society would get dreadfully dull rather quickly, she thought.

“If he calls tomorrow, we can move forward with the plan,” Pamela continued. “I daresay if you entangle yourself with him, we shall gain access to his house. He certainly would turn down a wish for a ball, wouldn’t you think?”

“I never needed an invitation to steal, Pamela,” Selina said glibly. “True, circulating in society has made it easier, but I stole from you long before I had that advantage.”

“Touché.”

“What _do_ you plan to do about Lord Dent, Pam?” Selina asked. “Not that I care, of course. But if you continue to poison your husbands, I do wish to make sure I don’t get touched by the scandal.”

“I don’t plan on it any time soon, Selina. But having an MP in one’s pocket is useful. When it ceases to be so, _then_ you may worry about Lord Dent’s future.”

“I wasn’t worrying,” Selina said sharply. “Besides, I have enough to think about with the Wayne Pearls.”

As she said, she _did_ like pearls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Bow Street Runners were founded in 1749 by Henry Fielding, and they were pretty much London's first police force until the organization was formally disbanded in 1839, with the advent of the Metropolitan Police Force. Interestingly, "Runners" was actually the way the public referred to them, not a title they called themselves. I'm not trying to be uber-accurate, but I'm definitely going to shove in history when I can, lol. Speaking of which...Regency slang can be a little odd, so if anyone has questions I will do my best to answer them. (I'm getting most of my vocab from "Georgette Heyer's Regency World" by Jennifer Kloester, which is a fab resource, highly recommend it)
> 
> And yes! Harvey Dent and Pamela Isley's relationship is totally based (at least partially) on what happens in the animated series. Spoiler alert: it doesn't end well.
> 
> Hopefully soon y'all will get a lot more actual, like, Batman action. And also murder because this is supposed to be a murder mystery ;)


	4. Good Deeds & Bad Ideas

If there was one thing, Selina thought, that gave her a distinct advantage over the Bat, it was that she didn’t spend every night prowling around who-knew-where. No, indeed; Selina only went out on the nights she had a planned mission to fulfill.

She imagined the Bat didn’t get much rest if he stayed up every night doing whatever it was he did.

Of course, Selina would rather not be out tonight, but she didn’t have a choice; Ed had made sure of that.

“It’s the night before my last day with Maggie,” Selina had hissed to him. He’d come, bold as you please, into the room where she’d been planning the best way to get into Wayne’s house. “I do _not_ want to waste my evening on one of your schemes.”

“If you don’t retrieve the documents I need, Cat, then we are all at risk of blackmail, and then where would your precious Maggie be?” he’d asked her.

“You constantly overestimate your intelligence, Ed,” she’d said, annoyed. “As always. How could you be so foolish as to let incriminating documents exist in the first place? You should try fixing your own mistakes every once in a while; then maybe you’d be less given to making them in the first place!”

“Not my fault,” he responded, without explaining what the documents even were. Knowing him, she doubted they were even a risk to their operations. It was probably just some scandalous love letters of an affair he planned to use to blackmail someone _else_. But with Maggie’s future life at stake, it wouldn’t do to completely antagonize Nygma.

And now she was balanced along the edge of the roof of an old butcher’s shop, surveying the warm glow coming from the windows of the pub in front of her. According to Ed, the papers were in the possession of one of the guests staying in the rooms above the ground floor.

“He likes his cups,” Ed had told her. “Shouldn’t be back in his room until after midnight. You’ll have until then.”

Selina ran across the rooftop and used her whip to grasp one of the buttresses of a taller building before swinging across onto the roof of the pub. She was light on her feet, but there was still a small thump; she waited a moment to make sure no one had heard her and then she crept along the roof towards one of the back windows.

One of the aspects of Ed’s mission she _did_ appreciate was the breadth of his knowledge. He might not have told her what the documents were, or the name of the man who possessed them, but he had told her which room he was staying in and where in the room she could find the box the papers were in. Selina was never quite sure how he obtained his information, but maybe she didn’t want to: deniable plausibility and all that.

She leaned over the edge of the roof so her top half hung down over the its side and unfastened the window. It was dark, but she could see a faint glow from the hallway through its door and could tell the room was empty.

She flipped herself in the window and landed noiselessly on the floor. She moved quickly and found a small, locked box with a family crest gilded upon its top, exactly as Ed had described. She slipped it into her bag and made her way out of the window and back the way she came. Perched on the other side of the butcher shop, she reached into the bag to examine the box once more. It was sturdy, but decorative; definitely the type that would belong to someone with wealth, which made its presence in a disreputable tavern even more suspect. She fingered the lock. If she wished, she could most certainly pick her way in. But should she? Hmmm. Choices, choices, choices…

A sharp cry split the air.

Selina froze and her ears twitched as she listened.

Another cry, and then a help! that was abruptly cut off.

It was a woman’s voice. A young woman’s voice.

Perhaps three buildings away, around the corner.

Not that it matters! she told herself. You’re not a hero, Selina!

Besides, that was the sort of thing that Bat took care of. She didn’t stop crimes, she committed them.

But still—

_Blast it._

She swung herself to the next building and followed the direction of the cry. A young girl, only a few years older than Maggie, was whimpering as a man had her pinned against a building. Selina felt her anger boil and in a moment her whip was wrapped around the man’s legs.

She pulled, hard.

The girl screamed as the man hit the ground.

“I suggest,” Selina said to his prostrate form as she would the whip around her arm, “you leave the area immediately.” She deepened her voice. She’d never before had to talk while on the streets at night, and she supposed she should have prepared for an occasion when she would need to.

“You’re not _him_,” the man said as he rose, wiping spit from his mouth as he stared at her.

“No,” she said. “I’m not.”

He charged towards her, but she flipped over his shoulder and got him from behind before he had a chance to react. Selina felt a small smile; it had been ages since she’d faced anyone in combat and, well…she forgot that she rather enjoyed it. As he turned, she spun and kicked him underneath his chin.

He staggered backward.

“Is it worth it, my good sir?” she asked mockingly.

“I ain’t got time for this,” he spat out, holding his hands out in placation and disgust before turning down an alleyway.

As soon as Selina was sure he was really gone, she turned to the girl, who was still pressed against the doorway in shock. Her clothing was dingy and sloppy, but obviously castoffs; they’d once been fashionable. She was definitely what those in her present society would call “a lightskirt.”

“Do you need me to walk you home?” Selina asked.

The girl shook her head, still terrified. Maybe she was scared of Selina; it was impossible to tell.

“I’ll—I’ll be all right,” she said, shaking. Selina let her hand touch the girl’s shoulder a moment before realizing that the frightened thing probably thought she was a man. A short, slight, feminine man, maybe. But still.

She stepped back and watched the girl hurry away down the corner. Selina sighed and looked up. It had to be past one o’clock, and she wanted to be well-rested for her last day with Maggie.

As she left the alley, she thought she heard a flutter of fabric and she could have sworn there was a shadow from a figure perched on the edge of the building behind her. But when she turned, no one was there, and she was alone.

* * *

He didn’t chase the Cat.

When he’d heard the girl’s scream, the last thing he’d expected was a dark, slight figure to emerge from the darkness to take down the assailant. He’d watched, curious. The swift movements were elegant, well-practiced, and especially out-of-place when contrasted to the drunken brutishness of the girl’s attacker. He knew immediately the figure was the Cat, but he couldn’t bring himself to catch him after what he’d just done.

Besides, it was the first time he’d been able to observe his foe, and Bruce always preferred to plan his actions before acting rashly. He couldn’t very well present The Cat to Gordon when he hadn’t even caught the fellow breaking any laws. He hadn’t come out that night with the intention of catching that particular criminal, anyway: he was following up a lead on a poison manufacturer. Three deaths over the past month had all been ostensibly natural, but Bruce suspected poison. Just where the murderers had obtained this poison, though, remained to be seen.

Finding he wasn’t the only one prowling around at night without the intention of criminal activity had certainly sidetracked him.

Bruce remained deep in thought as he returned home.

“You seem pensive tonight.”

“I saw something I didn’t suspect.” He was still wearing his Bat garb but had taken off his mask. Alfred had joined him in the underground wine cellar he’d converted into a sort science laboratory. It had taken some months to achieve, but he and Alfred had closed off the original entrance and made it accessible only through the priest’s hole in the library. Years ago, the passageway had been used during the reign of Elizabeth to hide Catholic priests from persecution, but after his grandparents’ bought the place fifty years ago, it had remained a secret until Bruce had discovered it as a child. For that reason, he didn’t think anyone alive knew about it, making it an excellent point of entry.

“You say the Cat saved this girl?” Alfred asked.

“He didn’t know I was there,” Bruce said. “But I watched. He uses a whip, which I haven’t heard mention of before.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Sir,” Alfred said, “then how do you know that it was in fact the Cat you saw?”

“It was,” Bruce said with certainty. “Everything about him was feline, almost feminine. If he is not the Cat, then out of the two, he’s certainly the one worthy of the name.”

“I take it we are proceeding with your plan, then?”

“Absolutely,” Bruce said. “And if I _am_ wrong, and the Cat is not the young woman’s mysterious savior, then I shall certainly feel less compunction in arresting him myself.”

* * *

Taking a stroll through Hyde Park in the late afternoon and evening was not simply the preferred leisure activity of the _ton_, it was an expected one. For that reason, Bruce had joined Sir Thomas Elliot on horseback to tour the park’s grounds the morning after his run-in with The Cat.

“I take it you haven’t been since you returned?” Sir Thomas asked as they tipped their hats a group of ladies out for a stroll. Bruce gave them a charming smile before looking back at his riding companion.

“Ten years is a lot of time, Elliot,” he said. “Everything looks different, but I cannot begin to tell if it is because it has changed, or _I_ have.” Though the words were true, he spun them as a joke. “I was but a boy when I left. Barely nineteen! What an idiot I was.”

“Knew nothing, I take it?” Elliot asked with a grin. “How I envy you your travels.” He shook his head. “Some of us did not have the option of shirking our responsibilities at home.”

Bruce kept himself from showing any surprise at Elliot’s sudden bitterness. “I say, Elliot,” he said. “That is coming down a bit hard, is it not?” He asked with a laugh, determined no one should ever see the newly returned Bruce Wayne react with anything but cheerful indifference. “I didn’t mean to put you in a dudgeon.” Though Bruce had suspected that there was something bothering Elliot, he hadn’t expected him to say anything quite that inflammatory; another man might have taken his words as an insult.

“I apologize,” Elliot said quickly. “I misspoke; only, I wish I had more opportunities to leave England.”

“You’re still young,” Bruce told him. “I’ve no doubt you’ve plenty of years left for adventuring.”

“Speaking of years I have left,” Elliot said, “I shall certainly have a great deal fewer if I neglect to join Miss Vreeland and her mother at the pond. Do you care to join?”

Bruce breathed deeply. “Perhaps by-and-by,” he said. “I wish to take Vesper for another gallop this evening,” he patted the horse’s neck. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all!” Sir Thomas left, rather gladly, Bruce thought. The air between them had become slightly awkward, and he had the idea that Miss Vreeland’s presence was probably an excuse. He turned directions and let Vesper wander as she wished.

As Bruce made his way around a hedge, he was surprised to find what looked to be the remains of a picnic—or rather, the beginnings of one. A blanket had been spread upon the ground, and a basket opened but not yet unpacked. But what was truly astonishing was that the lone occupant of the blanket was a young girl who couldn’t have been out of the schoolroom—no older than fourteen at the most. She was holding her chin in her hands and looking halfway between cross and bored. Bruce glanced around, disbelieving that anyone of good standing—as the girl’s family must be, judging from her dress—would leave so young a girl alone.

“Hullo!” he said by way of greeting.

The girl’s gaze shot up, startled. Her eyes widened, and she halfway rose from her seat.

Thinking the girl might be more nervous if he dismounted, he stayed at a distance. “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked.

“Oh, I am!” she said. “My party only left momentarily. I am sure they will be right back,” she explained.

“All alone?” Bruce said, trying not to be outraged. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, but he knew enough of society and this city to know that leaving a young girl—or boy, for that matter—alone in a secluded area was the height of foolishness.

“Oh,” the girl said eagerly, as if she understood his displeasure and wished to defend her absent companions, “my sister will be right back, I am sure! She was only called away on very important business, you see. She would not leave me unless it was urgent. She is most attentive, I assure you.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed. He did not wish to alarm the girl, but he rather thought he should stay until her sister returned.

“Ah, well,” he said, his face softening, “I am sure she will be. Are you celebrating a special occasion?” he nodded towards the picnic.

The girl’s face fell. “Not exactly. I’m to go away to school tomorrow, and it’s my last day.” She bit her lip and then asked, “Is that your horse? She’s very lovely, Sir.”

“Isn’t she?” Bruce said, patting his mount’s neck. “A fine stepper, I think, though I may be biased.” He glanced at the girl. “Would you like to pet her?”

“May I?”

“Of course.” Bruce’s feet landed on the ground and he motioned for the girl to come forward. She approached and cautiously held her arm towards the horse. When her hand made contact with the animal, he saw her posture visibly relax.

“Do you like to ride?” he asked her as she continued to stroke the horse.

“Oh, I’ve never tried,” she explained, and he examined her a bit more closely, trying to imagine which family the girl might belong to; most of the young ladies he knew began riding at a young age. “Does she have a name?” she asked.

“Vesper. Although speaking of names, perhaps we should exchange them?”

“Oh dear!” the young girl said, turning abruptly to look at him. “I quite forgot! I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Bruce threw back his head and laughed. “I’d say it’s a bit too late for that,” he said. “ But I suppose we can make it a little better. My name is Bruce Wayne,” he said by way of introduction. “Miss…?”

“Maggie!” a young woman’s voice called, as she broke through the clearing in the bushes. “Maggie, where did you—oh!”

The young woman’s whose startled face met his was none other than Miss Kyle’s.

Suddenly every word he knew flew directly out of his head.

_Blast it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost referred to Queen Elizabeth as "Elizabeth I" before I remembered at this point there'd only been one Queen Elizabeth, lol
> 
> Also, I spent way too long coming up with a chapter title that included an ampersand. I did it for the first three chapters so now I'm committed and have to stay on ~theme~


	5. Schemes & Schematics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alas, I didn't post last week but hopefully giving you two chapters this week will make up for it. XD

Selina was already trying not to be in a temper. Today was supposed to be just a day for her and Maggie, but they hadn’t even started their picnic before Ed had found and interrupted them, demanding to speak with her. Apparently one of the documents was missing from the box she’d given him last night. He knew she couldn’t have taken it—the lock was clearly untampered with! But of course Ed didn’t trust her anymore than she trusted him. It had taken a good twenty minutes of arguing to convince him she truly hadn’t taken anything—she hadn’t even looked in the box.

And then to come back to find Maggie with a strange man—her heart had completely dropped in her chest, and she didn’t find the ability to breathe again until her brain managed to convince her that she knew who the man was, and that Maggie seemed at ease.

“Hello, Lina!” Maggie said happily. “Mr. Wayne is letting me pet his horse. Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Miss Kyle!” Mr. Wayne said in surprise. “Are you the elusive sister of whom we have just been speaking ?”

“I suppose I am,” Selina looked from one to the other before regaining her bearings. “I am sorry, Maggie.”

“It’s all right,” Maggie said. “Mr. Wayne kept me company.”

“She’s a charming conversationalist, your sister,” Mr. Wayne said. “If she wasn’t leaving so soon for school, I would invite the two of you over so Miss Maggie could try riding one day, if she’d like.”

“Oh, I _would_ like that,” Maggie said.

“Perhaps it can be arranged when you come home for holidays?” He looked at Selina questioningly.

“Oh, I…I suppose,” Selina said, a little unsurely. But she knew many ladies did enjoy riding, and Maggie had yet to get the chance to try it.

“Capital!” he said with a grin.

“We would have to arrange it with Lady Isley, of course,” Selina added.

“Is she so intimidating a guardian?” he asked Maggie with mock seriousness.

“She is when you muck about in her garden and accidentally overturn the Hydrangeas,” Maggie said in a matching tone.

“Lady Isley is rather possessive of her plants,” Selina explained.

“She was _very_ cross,” Maggie emphasized. “And the hydrangeas aren’t even the dangerous ones.”

“Maggie!”

“Dangerous ones?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Selina shook her head, her heart beating fast though she pretended the matter was of no importance. “Lady Isley is, rather whimsically, a most avid collector of flora,” she explained. “from all over the world. Some of the plants are rather poisonous, I understand, so they are usually kept locked up and out of reach of curious sisters.” She raised a brow at Maggie, who shrugged.

“I only went into the conservatory to chase one of your cats, Selina, so I still maintain it was _quite_ your fault I got such a set-down.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Mr. Wayne said with a wink at Maggie, who grinned.

“Would you like to join our lunch, Sir?” Maggie asked politely.

Selina tried not to shoot her a look; it would be improper for him to do so, and she would have liked to have her sister all to herself in any case.

To her relief, Mr. Wayne declined before she could respond. “I don’t wish to intrude,” he said. “Besides, it is your last day together! But I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Maggie, when you return.”

Maggie gave a small curtsey. “I do too, Sir!” She turned towards the picnic.

“Ah, Miss Kyle,” Mr. Wayne said, almost—but not _quite_—awkwardly as Selina was turning towards her sister. She turned back to face him.

“I don’t suppose—if it wouldn’t be too forward—that I might be able to call on you this week?” He gave her one of those easy, charming smiles he was always using on every lady—and occasionally gentleman—that he met.

_Don’t antagonize him, don’t antagonize him_, Selina told herself_._ “I would like that very much, I think.” She smiled.

She dipped a small curtsey and let him kiss her hand, which was surprisingly not unpleasant, and bid him good day before returning to her sister.

She sat gingerly on the blanket as Maggie pulled out their lunch.

“I liked him,” she said. “He was nice. You should marry someone like _him_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Selina said. Truly, it was. He might find her attractive, but the idea of the richest man in the city marrying _her_—

She paused a moment. He had been kind to Maggie, and he hadn’t even known who she was. That meant that he wasn’t just using her to get to Selina, as other men might have. And _if _she married, and _if_ she had a household of her own, then sending her sister away wouldn’t be necessary. Wayne seemed rather an easy fellow to wrap round one’s finger, and probably wouldn’t make a fuss about taking in his wife’s sister. If Selina was to marry anyone…

Maggie was looking at her expectantly, and Selina realized that she’d stopped eating. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

Maggie looked at her impishly. “About him?”

“I swear, Magdelene Kyle, sometimes-

Maggie sighed. “I know, I know. I’m a presumptuous chit.”

Selina looked at her in shock. “Of course not! Who ever said a thing like that?”

“Mr. Nygma.”

“_Mr. Nygma_ is a presumptuous chit,” Selina said hotly, causing Maggie to laugh. It made Selina smile. She loved Maggie’s laugh, and she had to admit she heard it a lot more often since they’d moved in with Lady Isley. Though she hated relying on anyone but herself, both Pam and Ed had given her the opportunity to help her give Maggie a better life, and for that she thanked them.

“He’s not all bad, you know,” Maggie said. “Sometimes he makes games for me, and they’re very diverting.”

“Ed?” Selina said in disbelief.

Maggie nodded. “You know, with riddles. And once he let me look at his Chinese puzzle box. I couldn’t open it—it was very difficult—but he showed me how and it was most clever!” Maggie thought a moment, “I think he likes being clever for people.”

“I’m sure he does,” Selina said.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Maggie clarified. “It’s like when I recite my poems to you. It’s _that_ sort of thing.”

“Appreciation, you mean.”

Maggie nodded. “We all want to be appreciated, you know. Maybe that’s why Mr. Nygma is so cross all the time, because no one appreciates him.”

“Well," Selina said, not ready to give Ed Nygma the total benefit of the doubt, "maybe we’d all appreciate him more if he wasn’t so cross.”

* * *

“Are you sure this plan is wise, Sir?”

“Which plan? Surreptitiously investigating Dent’s fiancée or courting Miss Kyle?”

“And here I assumed they were one and the same.” Alfred poured Bruce a cup of tea and gave him a warning look.

“Lady Isley is my only lead. Whatever poison the killer is using, it’s not common. I theorize it is plant-based; ergo, inquiring about the matter with someone who knows rare plants is not only a reasonable plan, it is a wise one.”

“And calling upon Miss Kyle is the only excuse you could think of?”

“I can’t very well intrude and declare I’m here to ask for help investigating a string of murders, Alfred.” He glanced down at his plate. That morning’s breakfast had been particularly good. “Is this a new scone recipe?”

“I took the liberty of hiring you a cook, Master Bruce. Considering I already have all of the household duties to perform…”

“I am sorry. Keeping a household is much different than when it was just us off on the continent. As I said, hire whomever you need. Besides, we can’t have people thinking we’re about to swallow a spider.”

“Swallow a spider?” Alfred looked appalled.

“It means to go bankrupt. There is a monstrous amount of society cant I’m to relearn if I want this to work.” He shook out the morning’s paper, frowning over its pages.

“Good lord.” Alfred obviously did not relish the idea. “And is Miss Kyle the sort of woman to be…” he swallowed…”attracted by such buffoonery?”

Bruce did not deign an answer, but glared at him from behind his paper.

“Of course. I didn’t think so, Sir.”

* * *

“I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses about Mr. Wayne,” Pamela said as she stirred her tea. “He’s swimming in lard, Selina_. Swimming_.”

“You sound like Veronica,” Selina said pointedly. “Or Miss Page.”

Ed had dropped by the morning with the building plans of the Wayne home, and she was studying them as she and Pamela had their afternoon tea. With Maggie gone, Selina felt she could relax a little bit more now that she didn't have to constantly worry about hiding things from her sister. 

It didn't mean she didn't miss her, though.

“You do know how to wound a woman, Cat,” Lady Isley said.

Selina sighed. “He can help me take care of Maggie, Pam. That’s the important thing.”

“Are you still taking his pearls?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Selina said without hesitation. “It’s not like _he’ll_ miss them, and I need to pay off…” her voice trailed off and Pam raised her eyebrows.

“You know I’d like to have my own stash of funds,” Selina said. “You of all people know the importance of independence.”

“Darling, I would be disappointed if you _weren’t_ still stealing that necklace. Every girl needs accomplishments.”

“Accomplishments,” Selina groaned, setting down her tea cup with a clank, which almost covered the sound of the oath that slipped through her lips. “I never thought I’d need to master those, with my lack of interest in the marriage mart. I can’t sing or play an instrument. My sewing is only useful, not ornamental, and I’ve never painted a screen in my life.”

“I daresay you’re pretty enough that it won’t matter. Besides, its not as though Wayne has any relatives to impress or gain approval of.”

“Does he not?” Selina asked. “At all?”

“Goodness, no. His parents died when he was a child. He does have an uncle, I believe, but most of his relatives, if living, are quite distant. That should make things easier, don’t you think?”

Selina’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not planning on killing him.”

“I didn’t think you were! Besides, you have no independent wealth, at least at present. If you were to kill Mr. Wayne before you were to give him a male heir, all of that lovely money would simply pass on to his next relative, whoever that may be.” She sighed. “If I were running this country, those ridiculous entailments would be the first thing I’d get rid of.”

“I agree, but it doesn’t help the fact that somehow I need to gain anywhere between three and five accomplishments by tomorrow morning!”

“That’s not my problem, Dear,” Pamela said serenely. “You’re the one who got yourself into this scrape, and I most certainly am not going to exert any of my efforts in getting you out of it.” She paused as she gently tapped her spoon against the side of her teacup before placing it on the saucer. “In fact, I may enjoy watching this little drama. I daresay it will be most diverting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, this is the first time I've ever written ANYTHING on a true week-by-week basis and as a result the whole thing is driving me nuts because even though I outline/plan ahead...sometimes you start writing and you realize it's not going the way you planned it!
> 
> Anyway, I AM going to try to get a bunch of chapters stockpiled before NaNo so I still have something to post during November, when I won't have time/mental capacity to devote to this fic. Until then, *youtuber voice* don't forget to like and subscribe.


	6. Calls & Complications

If Bruce hadn’t trained himself so well against it, he would have been nervous the moment he entered Lady Isley’s elegant home. Bruce didn’t know much about the woman’s deceased husband, other than that he’d been independently wealthy and most of his assets had been passed on to his wife. But Bruce had devoted some time to do some digging into her relationship with Miss Kyle, which seemed to be, at least on the surface, the most tentative of bonds. They were supposedly related through Miss Kyle’s father, an Irish cousin of Lady Isely’s mother. Apparently, Mr. Kyle had moved to Spain, where he’d met and married his wife. It did not surprise Bruce that Miss Kyle and Maggie had Spanish heritage; he would have suspected such from their coloring. But he also couldn’t help but notice that, for two girls who’d grown up in Spain, their English was without accent. Either they’d had excellent tutoring, or they hadn’t been living there as long as Society thought. In truth, Bruce had found it surprisingly difficult to gain knowledge of Miss Kyle and her sister. There simply wasn't much about them to know, at least in the eyes of the _ton_.

Actually, the entire household was a puzzle to Bruce.

Though he supposed he was one to talk. He was the richest man in the city, who only kept one servant. But as he entered, he had to admit that if he was looking for rare plants, he’d probably come to the right place. The house was covered with them, on nearly every available surface. Where most households would have had a space for some sort of bric-a-brac or sculpture, there were instead vases and pots overflowing with vines, flower, and grasses. Even the few paintings on the wall were all still-lifes of flowers or fruit. It bordered on the eccentric. He wondered that it didn’t bother Dent, but then, Bruce supposed when a man was as in love as his friend was, all a woman’s quirks seemed charming.

He was shown to the drawing room by a pale-faced servant who seemed unnaturally docile. It was there he found Lady Isley at the harp and Miss Kyle on a sofa, stroking a small black kitten. A larger orange cat was by her feet, pawing at a section of lace on her gown.

Lady Isley’s fingers paused at the harp’s strings. “Mr. Wayne,” she greeted. “What an agreeable surprise.”

“It is a pleasure, Lady Isley,” he said. “I trust you are well?”

“Quite well.” She gestured. “Please sit down.”

Bruce did so, and the orange cat immediately turned his attention to the newcomer. It pounced upon the armrest of the chair next to him as a better station for his observation.

“This one’s a curious little thing, isn’t he?” Bruce asked. He extended a finger to rub against the cat’s nose, and it immediately hopped into his lap.

“Do stop bothering Mr. Wayne,” Selina scolded. “He’s rather bold,” she added. “I am sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Bruce assured her. “I take it you are fond of cats?”

“Very much,” she said. She glanced at Lady Isley, almost, Bruce thought, as if asking for help.

Was she nervous in his presence? He cleared his throat. “I hear you are quite the horticulturist, Lady Isley. I’m fond of a good garden myself, and I understand that you have the best selection of flora in all of London.”

This seemed to please Lady Isley. “I’m glad to have a guest who appreciates my darlings,” she said. “Too many in the city simply don’t appreciate or love Nature as she so much deserves.”

“I agree,” Bruce said. “Flowers are such jolly things, don’t you think?” He reached to touch one of the many plants around the room, this one a type of rose, but let himself do so clumsily enough to almost tip the vase over. He caught it carefully but clumsily, the entire event designed to make himself appear awkward, but to not actually cause damage to any of Lady Isley’s plants. “I apologize.”

He noticed Miss Kyle had bit her lip, as if to keep from laughing, while Lady Isley had almost physically startled from her chair in alarm at the entire fiasco.

“Selina,” Lady Isley said suddenly, with a bit more alertness in her voice than Bruce had yet heard, “Why don’t you show Mr. Wayne the garden?”

Bruce straightened and set the car on the floor. “I’d love to see it,” he said. “Miss Kyle?”

Miss Kyle rose from her seat, the cat still in her arms. “I daresay it shouldn’t be any trouble, Mr. Wayne,” she said sweetly—almost a little too sweetly. “You don’t mind if I bring Isis, do you?”

“Of course not,” Bruce assured her as he followed her out of the room. Normally, he thought Lady Isley would have accompanied as chaperone, but nothing about Lady Isley and Miss Kyle made much sense, at least not to him. Not yet.

“I can see why she frightens Miss Maggie,” He said as Miss Kyle led him towards the conservatory. “She’s rather intimidating, isn’t she?”

“Or is she simply the only woman you cannot charm with a smile and a compliment?” His companion seemed amused.

“Oh!” Bruce said with good humor. “I see. At any rate, Dent seemed to be able to manage _that_ just fine. He’s a lucky man.”

“Indeed.” She seemed to say it a little stiffly.

“Not as lucky as the man who wins your heart, of course,” he added smoothly, but he wondered if maybe what he _thought_ he’d said wrong and in that instance and what he’d _actually_ said wrong may have been two different things.

Miss Kyle smirked at him in a way he’d almost describe as _coquettish_. “Is it luck?” she asked. “Or the result of effort?”

“I suppose I shall endeavor to find out,” he answered.

She blinked but then covered her surprise well. “I suppose we shall wait and see, then.”

Bruce decided to steer the conversation before he came on too strong. After all, he wasn’t really pursuing her seriously; he couldn’t, even if he would have liked to.

“How do you find England?” he asked, hoping to get a better read on her.

“I’m sorry?” she seemed momentarily confused.

“As opposed to Spain?”

“Oh,” she said, understanding lighting up her face. “They are different, but not in ways I can describe,” she said. “You see, in Spain, we did not get out very much. We lived in the country, and my mother was rather strict. Living in England is different if only because the way I live is different here. Here, I am in the city, a part of Society. In Spain, it was much different.” She glanced up at him. “And you? How do you find England after so many years away?”

“Like coming back to a dream I thought I’d forgotten,” he said. “Or a memory, perhaps.”

“That’s…poetic.” She seemed surprised, and Bruce himself was a little startled by the words, which were more genuine than he intended, however lyrical they might have unintentionally been.

“I read a lot,” he said with a flippant shrug.

“Ah, well, ‘El que lee mucho y anda mucho, ve mucho y sabe mucho’,” she quoted. _The one who reads a lot and walks a lot, sees a lot and knows a lot._

“Cervantes,” Bruce said, recognizing the quotes author. But what was more intriguing was the language she spoke it in. Her Spanish was nearly flawless, but Bruce couldn’t help but notice she had the _slightest_ of English accents. In other words, he suspected that she’d learned Spanish while living in England, rather than English while living in Spain. It didn’t corroborate with her story.

“Do you prefer the city to the country?” She asked.

“I have many fond memories of the country,” Bruce said. “But it suits my interests to live in town at present.” He smiled at her meaningfully.

“Maggie’s school is in the country,” Miss Kyle said, a bit wistfully. “I think she’ll like it there.”

“Reminds her of home?”

“Hmmmm? Oh, of course. Though the English countryside is much different from the Spanish, I’m sure.”

“No doubt.” They were in the conservatory now, which opened into the garden. If Bruce had thought the rest of the house filled with greenery, the conservatory was on another level entirely. There was barely a path to walk: everything was covered in vines. He recognized several plants, many from regions far beyond England. He also noticed glass doors that led into a deeper part of the conservatory. They were locked.

“Those are where Lady Isley keeps her rare plants,” Miss Kyle explained. “And I promise, very few of them are dangerous. Maggie has an overactive imagination.”

“Didn’t we all at that age?” Bruce asked. He glanced back once more, not entirely ready to give up on his idea. But if he couldn’t find a way in there today, the _Bat _certainly could later.

And, he thought, looking back at Miss Kyle and the risk she posed, the sooner he did so, the better. 

* * *

After a day of calls—none so as productive as his visit to Lady Isleys—Bruce spent the evening at Almack’s, at least for an hour or two. He’d re-entered the house at half-past twelve, careful not to be seen. When he’d left Almack’s that night, he’d made sure to loudly proclaim he was off to find some “entertainment” but had been quick to evade any company.

Now, that “entertainment” consisted of crouching on the corner of the roof that faced his bedroom window, where the safe was. From his studies, he’d gathered that the thief somehow had access to the plans of the buildings he had robbed and knew where the safes would be without entering. What was more, Bruce had analyzed the positions of the building and—if his experience was anything to go on—this side of the house would be the easiest to break into.

Even so, after waiting for two hours, the only thing he heard to alert him to another presence was the slightest, gentlest creak of wood below him. If he hadn’t been quietly surveying the area for that exact purpose, Bruce would have completely missed the movement to his left. A slight, athletic figure swung up onto the ledge outside of window.

He used his spyglass to peer into the room. One day he hoped he’d find a way to better see in the dark, but for now, he’d have to rely on magnification over illumination.

Three minutes and fifteen seconds later, the figure crept back out of the window. Bruce was mildly impressed. The thief was swift and silent; it was no wonder he hadn’t yet been caught.

As the thief flipped down the side of the building into the walled garden below him, Bruce rose and jumped down, his stiff cape allowing him to glide straight toward his target.

He pushed the thief down before he had a chance to react, and The Cat rolled in front of him before quickly jumping back to his feet. The figure in front of his seemed to decide for one split second whether to fight or run before snapping his whip towards Bruce, who caught it as it wrapped around his wrist.

He pulled, and the thief stumbled forward.

Bruce slammed him against the side of the wall, though not as brutally as he might otherwise have. He didn’t want to hurt the man, not after what he’d seen in the alley that night.

The Cat had no such compunctions; he kneed Bruce in the groin—or tried to, and then pulled down the whip that was still wrapped around Bruce’s arm. The Cat tried to roll beneath him as he fell, but Bruce was able to, instead, pull the thief down with him.

_Umph_. Bruce landed on top of him, and attempted to flip himself over so he could reach the Cat’s wrists in order to restrain him.

But it was at that moment that he realized that in all his studying of the thief, there was something that he had painfully, embarrassingly miscalculated.

The Cat wasn’t a he. It was a _she_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't quite as long as I was hoping it would be, but it is something! And the next chapter should be a big one (at least plot-wise!), so we'll see how it goes :)
> 
> I'm hoping to write one more chapter before I go on NaNo hiatus, but I make no promises. I'm not sure how long this fic is going to be, because honestly I don't know if this is going to be one huge story with several adventures/arcs, or a shorter one with sequels. But it's probably going to be 20 chapters at *least*. I mean, I could spend ages in this world so who knows how long I'll be writing it ;)
> 
> *also...I just copied the Spanish translation so I hope it's accurate. I don't speak the language (no fault of my high school Spanish teacher...I've just always been bad at it) so all translation mistakes are fully my own.


	7. Confrontations & Considerations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thank you guys for waiting. I had a wonderfully productive NaNo (I won!!! For the first time!!) but it's taken me a bit longer than I'd hoped to get my head back into this story. This chapter's a lot shorter than I wanted it to be, but I figured after such a long wait it was still better than making you all wait another week!

Bruce leapt to his feet with a speed that would have surprised even Alfred. The thief rolled out from under him and landed into a crouch, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

“You’re a woman.”

She stiffened for a fraction of a second before relaxing. In those brief moments, her entire manner changed and she rose to her feet. Now that he knew she was a woman, she didn’t seem overly concerned about hiding it anymore. Or maybe she just knew that she’d caught him off guard.

“You really are a detective,” she said, mocking amusement in her voice. In one movement, her whip was suddenly around his legs and she pulled before he had a chance to react.

He managed to break his fall and pull himself upward until he was towering over her again in a single move. He might have been caught off-guard, but he wasn't an idiot. Or untrained. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” he growled. “You’ve taken something. Give it to me.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were a competitor of mine,” she said. She leaned close to him and let her finger trail down his shoulder. “If you want to go into business together, I won’t complain. But this is my take.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He didn’t have time for this, but he wasn’t sure of the correct course of action. He’d never lifted his hand against a woman—well, with one exception—and it wasn't a something he wanted to turn into a habit.

“How boring.” She retracted her hand, but he grabbed it.

“Change of heart?” she asked.

“The pearls,” he said. “Hand them over.”

He couldn’t see behind the mask, but he could tell her eyes were widening with fake innocence. “Pearls? Why, what makes you think I would be taking those?”

“We both know that the only thing of value in that house,” he said. “Give them to me, and I won’t hurt you.”

“Let me go, and I won’t hurt _you_,” she said coquettishly.

His grip tightened, a small squeak of pain escaped her; he loosened his hold on her arm and she immediately took advantage by slipping from his grasp. Cracking her whip towards the balcony behind him, she used it to pull herself up and leapt out of reach.

He didn’t need a whip to do the same: he jumped, grabbed the bottom railing, and swung himself over.

She was already on the roof, sprinting towards the edge of it.

He followed, and he noticed how light her steps were: even running, she was remarkably silent. It was no wonder she slipped in and out of homes like a ghost.

But Bruce had been practicing for years; he could match her in silence, even with his added weight.

She glanced back behind her to see if he was still there, and to his surprise, she grinned.

“Still following me?” she said. “How flattering.” She jumped off of the roof and caught herself on the balustrade of a neighboring mansion before giving him a glance and continuing her escape.

Bruce jumped to the roof next to hers, planning to cut her off when she reached the next street, but she made an unexpected turn to the right.

“There’s no where to run,” he said, cutting off her exit.

She stepped backward, close to the edge of the roof. If it had been anyone else, he would have worried she’d have fallen, but she was obviously too experienced and agile for that.

“You know,” she said. “If you fancy me so much, you could have just sent me flowers.”

“I gave you a chance,” he said. “Now I’m here to take you to the constable.”

She sighed. “I guess it’s just not meant to be.”

And then she jumped.

He ran to the edge of the roof and looked down, but she had completely disappeared from view. At the same moment, he heard a cry for help from the opposite direction. IT wasn't a choice; he couldn't follow her when someone's life was in danger.

Besides, he had no intention of letting her escape forever.

* * *

Out of breath and her heart still pounding from the encounter, Selina pressed herself against the wall of the alley and waited until she was sure she was safe. She’d brought him much closer to Lady Isely’s than she’d intended, but hopefully he wouldn’t assume that she’d led him anywhere in particular in their chase. She pulled herself on the roof but keep close to the shingles as she surveyed the city around her; she didn’t see him. She all but ran home, where she flung herself through the window to her room. She was so rattled and exhausted that she nearly didn’t see Lady Isley there.

“How did it—” Lady Isley stopped when she got a full look at Selina, and it was possibly the first time Selina had ever seen her speechless.

“Cat, what happened?”

“I ran into—” she swallowed, “—_him_.” She was amazed she’d been able to hide her nervousness so well when she’d actually spoken to him; she’d never been caught, much less by a cloaked vigilante she’d heard horror stories about through Lady Isley and Ed’s grapevine.

“Oh.” Lady Isley cocked her head. “Are you…hurt?” she finally asked, seeming to realize that perhaps she should offer some form of comfort or assistance.

“I’m fine, just exhausted.” She dropped her bag on the floor. “He knows I’m a woman.”

“And you used that to your advantage, I hope.”

“Ha!” She tore off her mask and tossed it onto the bed. “I tried. That man was stiff as a board. I bet if I’d thrown myself at him, it would have been like kissing a statue.”

“He has no clue as to your identity, though?”

Selina shook her head. “No, thank goodness.” She collapsed on the bed. “I haven’t escaped his notice, though, and learning my sex is more than a small setback. If he’s a detective as they say, he’ll be able to narrow it down.” She sat up. “Perhaps I should stay in for a few nights.”

“It would not be an unwise plan,” Pamela said. “It will give you time to orchestrate your capture of Mr. Wayne.”

Selina through her an unamused glance. “You do have the most demoralizing way of putting things, Pamela.”

“It is a trap,” Pamela said seriously.

“One I didn’t think you were going to help me set,” Selina said warily.

“I have no plan to,” she said. “But I won’t hinder you. After all, having a foot in the door of the country’s wealthiest man can only be to my benefit. Besides, I always enjoy watching a talented woman pull the wool down over the eyes of an unsuspecting man, especially a rich, entitled one.”

“And maybe I just want to marry him and move to the country somewhere with Maggie in peace,” Selina shot back.

Pamela threw back her head and laughed. “You, a country girl? My dear Selina, you’d only chafe and rebel under those circumstances. You’re a wildcat, not a housecat.”

“Well, I’ll be a_ dead _cat if that bat catches me again. I’m not going back out until he has had time to get distracted by some other crime." She rose. "Now, if you'll excuse me, if I'm to be well-rested for my man-catching tomorrow, I shall need my beauty rest."

It wasn’t until the next morning that she realized she still had the pearls, safely hidden away in her bag.


	8. Covert Operations & Catastrophic Operas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, well...this is awkward....  
I have no excuse for my absence except that January was a terrible, stressful month and I was sick for most of it. Please accept my humble offering of a new chapter. *elaborate bow to you, my public*

“I’ve made a tactical error, Alfred.” Bruce came back home a few hours later. He’d decided it would be better to stick with his patrol than take off after a thief who, no matter how infuriating, didn’t strike him as dangerous to the public. He thought again of the night the Cat saved that woman, and attempted to understand her.

“He was better than you thought, I take it, Sir,” Alfred said.

“Oh, _he_ wasn’t,” Bruce corrected. “_That_ was my error. The cat is a woman. I should have seen it; it is laughable that I did not.”

The look on Alfred’s face was, for a moment, unreadable. It took Bruce a second to recognize the man’s expression for what it was: barely hidden amusement.

“Alf,” he said warningly.

“Not a word shall pass my lips on the subject, Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “Other than I am glad you have accepted this reminder that you are not, indeed, infallible.”

“I never said I was, Alfred.”

“No, you did not.” The understood implication was that, even if he never said it, he certainly _acted_ as thought it were true.

“What do you plan to do?” Alfred asked.

“Bartholomew Fair,” Bruce said immediately. He’d thought of it earlier, when he’d first seen the thief, but now more than ever it seemed a likely lead to take. “The place has its share of curiosities: acrobats, masters of sleight of hand, charlatans. It’s likely the one place in England a woman with those skills might have used them. Aside from thievery, of course. I’ll go this morning.”

“Are you forgetting you already have a previous engagement at Lady Isley’s? You were to accompany she and Miss Kyle to the museum.”

“That’s right.” Bruce thought a moment. As much as he wanted to catch the thief, catching a murderer was of a higher priority, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lady Isley had the information he needed.

It wasn’t Lady’s Isley’s face who came to mind when he thought of his day tomorrow, however.

“I suppose I must keep my word, as well as appearance,” he said. “Hopefully, our rogue thief will at least wait a few days before she sells my mother’s pearls.”

* * *

Selina paused before she walked into the sitting room in order to catch her breath and prepare herself to face the man behind the door. She wasn’t frightened of him; he was not the sort of person she’d ever be intimidated by. What she was worried about was making sure she didn’t grow so confident in her abilities that she’d forget herself and slip up. It was not only her past she had to hide from him now, but the fact that there was a strand of priceless pearls hidden underneath the floorboard below her bed.

The thought flittered through her mind that maybe it wasn’t nervousness that she was facing, but a guilty conscience, but she shrugged that away. A conscience was something she’d long ago decided she couldn’t afford.

Preparing a surprised smile for her face when her eyes lit upon her admirer, she opened the door.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said in gentle excitement. “What a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” He rose and kissed her offered hand.

Selina would have liked to say she was experienced when it came to courtship. Oh, she’d been flirted at, leered at, propositioned, and given any and every manner of male attention…but she’d never been _courted_. That was what people did, she understood, when they actually wanted to marry someone, and the ritual often consisted of things like long walks and gentle conversation and such things.

To think that she should live to see herself actually set her cap at someone—!

But Mr. Wayne had come to see her, and thought his intentions were not clear yet, she needed to give him some sort of encouragement. But the right sort; she was no bit of muslin who could be persuaded to into becoming someone’s _cher-amie_; marriage was what she needed to help Maggie.

She’d spent the day reading and brushing up on her conversational skills. She’d even slipped in some Spanish. Of course, it wasn’t a popular language like French or even Italian or German, but it was _something_. And she knew she spoke it well; as a child, her mother had rarely spoken to her in anything else.

Her studies must have worked sufficiently, because after their walk, Mr. Wayne invited her to accompany him to the opera that evening.

Her spirits rose; capturing his interest seemed to have worked. “I would love to,” she said. Next time she’d turn him down, just to make herself not seem to eager or desperate. But now she needed to focus on encouraging him. One thing she’d noticed about Mr. Wayne was though he was easily distracted by a pretty face, he didn’t pursue if the lady was disinterested in his advances.

So, she needed to make it clear she was interested.

With this in mind, she paid special care to her appearance that night and greeted him with a warm smile. She didn’t go for adoring; she simply couldn’t go _that _far. But she made sure that he knew she considered his attention pleasant, and more so than any other man in the room.

She offered her hand to him where he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She hoped she didn’t smell like the herbs Lady Isley had stuffed around the corners of the house. Really, Selina wished she’d relegate her plants to somewhere other than the upstairs. Somehow, even Selina’s shelves were overflowing with vines that Pamela apparently didn’t have room for elsewhere. Selina had had to fish mint leaves out of her hair before she’d gotten ready that morning.

But thankfully, if she couldn’t quite prompt her face into an adoring expression, Mr. Wayne certainly could.

If his current expression was anything to go by, he’d been completely and absolutely _caught_.

* * *

Bruce was not nearly the enthusiast of the theater that Alfred was, but he had always found it enjoyable. Additionally, he’d always found it an excellent diversion when in company, as he didn’t necessarily have to keep up with a conversation; seemingly engrossed in the action upon the stage, he could let his mind, instead, study more important things.

“Thank you for inviting me this evening,” Miss Kyle said. “I’m rather surprised you haven’t had your fill of me and my rather invasive chaperone today.”

“Oh, I think being under Lady Isley’s watchful eye is worth spending some time with you,” he said with a smile, so focused on Miss Kyle’s face he nearly walked into a man heading in their direction.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Sir!” he said.

The man laughed, and Bruce recognized him. Lord Nashton had been an old acquaintance of his father’s, and though he’d never remembered the two men being particularly close, Bruce did know that his father had only ever spoken of him with respect.

“I say, I see why you were distracted!” the older man laughed. “It’s good to see you back in town, my boy!” he added, slapping down a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You’re looking more and more like your father every day.”

“Thank you, Sir. I can only hope I live up to his legacy in more than appearances.”

Lord Nashton cleared his throat, and Bruce collected himself. “Oh, of course! Lord Nashton, may I present Miss Selina Kyle?”

“An honor,” the older man said with a charming smile at the lady. “I’ve heard much about you, Miss Kyle. Mrs. Page speaks quite highly of you.”

“An exaggeration, I’m sure.”

Bruce noticed her eyes were studying Nashton with a curious glint.

“Have you met him before?” he asked as he escorted her to his box. Dent was in front of them with Lady Isley. “You looked at thought you recognized him.”

“No,” she said contemplatively. “He looked familiar, but I don’t think I’ve met him. Or perhaps I did and it was so long ago we’d both forgotten.” She smiled. “I’m not the best with names and faces.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Bruce said with a laugh. It was true, though. She didn’t seem the forgetful type. “And he certainly wouldn’t forget you, I’m certain.” He made sure his smile was wide. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” Her words were simple, almost retreating.

He cocked his head, face more puzzled than he really was. “Do my compliments displease you?”

She laughed elegantly. “I’ve never met a compliment I didn’t like,” she said with humor. “I simply don’t make a habit of believing them to be anything other than politeness.”

“But you are beautiful,” he said, purposefully bumbling. “I mean, you’re the most beautiful woman here, of course.”

She shook her head. “Please do be reasonable,” she said, patting the arm that held hers hostage. She seemed to relax, as if realizing he was nothing more than an affable buffoon she was possibly becoming fond of out of pity.

Maybe that’s why she was accepting his advances; a clever woman who couldn’t find her equal might very well accept a buffoon for a husband, if she assumed she could control him.

Of course, he felt a bit guilt leading her on, but if she had her own mercenary motives, he couldn’t be quite so abashed at his actions as he might otherwise be.

When he was certain she wasn’t looking at him, he allowed his gaze to linger on her, less in admiration and more in study. There was something more to her that she was portraying, and he wasn’t certain if it was just that he’d been so prejudiced against the _ton_ that finding a brain in one of society’s ladies was so unexpected, or if the warning’s ringing in his brain had basis. For all he knew, she was simply a complex human being, not a giggly caricature of a husband-hunting miss.

She’d neatly sidestepped all of his questions, no matter how gently phrased, with practiced adroitness. It would have frustrated Bruce had he not been so impressed. In fact, he rather thought that was an answer to itself. She was used to avoiding questions without seeming as though she was, which made him understand just why it had been so difficult to gain knowledge of her beforehand. What was even more impressive about her was that one didn’t realize they’d learned nothing about her; she wasn’t a “mystery” to Society; they all knew who she was. They just didn’t think to wonder if there was anything beyond her façade.

Mastering that talent was certainly something he would know about.

He turned his eyes back towards the stage just as a piercing scream jolted him from his seat. Miss Kyle rose to her feet as quickly as he did, and neither of them bothered to look at the other before rushing from the box and finding a woman wailing into a handkerchief.

“My word,” Miss Kyle gasped.

The woman was standing over a male figure lying face down on the carpet.

“My husband!” she screamed, alerting the entire theater. “He’s dead!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like I've skimmed over a lot of actual conversation between Bruce and Selina (which is due partly to writer's block, that pesky thing) but I promise they will get more dialogue in the future! Speaking of the future...I'm not sure how regular these updates are going to be, but I AM going to update! Hopefully I won't have another long gap like this between chapters though :)


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